Chapter Eight

The Duke's Not Dead

Life alone on the road alone wasn't as bad as Dean had thought it would be. It wasn't a picnic, mind you. He had to apply a diligence that bordered on paranoia now that he was without a body to watch his back. The ghost of Sam still sat shotgun in the Impala and in his head. Sometimes he forgot he was alone and started talking out loud, to his brother or Cal, only to realize that oh yeah he wasn't about to get an answer.

Still there was an unexpected peace that had come with the exile he'd chosen to impose on himself. The people he loved were all together, happy and safe. The FBI and their Canadian equivalents might pay them a visit now and again but Dean was fairly confident that as long as there was nothing to link him to them they'd be okay. There were a number of perks to being alone that he'd all but forgotten since that fateful trip to Stanford years before. Things like not having anyone to answer to when he made stupid mistakes. It was nice to have the bathroom to himself too. No more chick music in his car or short tempers to navigate around. Not that Dean was perfect or anything. It was just nice to have a little time to himself without having to deal with other people's crap.

Little perks aside, life on the road alone was incredibly lonely. At first it wasn't too bad. He had details to work out. Things like getting rid of all his old aliases and the Id's associated to them and creating brand new ones that couldn't be traced back to his name. It was a job that should have been a whole lot easier with just a quick phone call to Bobby. Call it masochism or sheer stubbornness but Dean figured if he was going to burn bridges he might as well do it all the way. Cutting ties was the only way he could see to make this work, at least until he could work out how to clear the Winchester name in the eyes of the American government. Considering he didn't have a flying clue how to accomplish that particular miracle; that meant indefinitely.

So Dean had to become like the things he hunted. Invisible, transparent… what was that word Sam had always been so fond of? Incorporeal. Their father would have been impressed at how quickly and effectively Dean had jumped off the grid.

On the downside there were no more flashy hotels, which was fine. They'd always been more Cal's style. For now it was back to the no-tell motels that made you pay by the hour. At least they let a guy have some semblance of privacy. There wouldn't be any turn down service to hide the equipment from. That wasn't so bad, right?

Hell, he even managed to get rid of a poltergeist for a contact of his at Disneyland. Drove right out of Bobby's driveway (out of Cal's life for good) and right on down to Florida before even bothering with a name change. At first he thought it was because he wanted to get as far away from the people he was protecting as he could get. After it was over and he was alone in the motel room with no one for company but his good pal Jack it was easier to admit to himself that maybe he just needed to feel like he'd done something productive. Apparently one didn't need family or a girlfriend around to get smacked in the face with a chick flick moment. Dean was perfectly capable of creating them for himself without any kind of inspiration.

So the key to this self-imposed loner lifestyle was to keep busy. It certainly wasn't his first go 'round at alone, so Dean just fell back into old habits. Jump straight from one job to the next. Leave yourself just enough time in between to rest up or heal depending on how things stood once the big bad was properly dealt with. Loneliness getting to you? Take a night off and head to the local watering hole wherever you happen to be. There was always a card game, a pool table, a dart board and a pint waiting somewhere.

The traveling itself was getting sort of tough considering how many places he felt the need to avoid. New York for one, and not just the city but the whole state. No telling how many folks knew Cal by one alias or another, let alone those who knew her just by face. Either way, if she was looking for him chances were somebody would recognize him and put in a call. That was one woman you underestimated at your own risk. He wasn't making that mistake again.

South Dakota was another one. Bobby had long feelers all over the country but Sioux Falls was his home base and it would be easier to stay incognito if he wasn't on the Jedi Master's home turf. There was Virginia, for obvious reasons. Wouldn't do to go traipsing around Big Brother's backyard. Might as well paint a big ass bullseye on the back of his shirt and run around screaming 'come and get me, suckers, I'm right here'.

Kansas was out, also for obvious reasons. Not that there was much there for him short of Misouri Mosely and he wasn't exactly looking to crash on that crazy lady's couch. He knew for a fact he wouldn't be allowed to put his feet up on it and how comfortable would that be while trying to sleep anyway?

Less obvious were the places he and Sam had been made by law enforcement over the years. Oh that was a fun one, trying to trace back every Podunk town and hollow he'd been arrested in ever. Talk about the list that never ends.

No longer was Dean Winchester able to just hop in behind the wheel and speed down the interstate on the quickest route from point A to point B. Nope. Now every trip to the corner store or gas station took three hours of planning just to be sure he wouldn't be spotted and taken down while buying a freaking bag of pretzels. It was a royal pain in the assets but what the hell, right? He had nothing but time now. Too much time really. So instead of sitting around stewing over the warrant out for his arrest and this life on the lam, depressingly alone, he went right back to what he knew best. Hunting evil supernatural stuff was a full time job anyway. Who had time to think?

Somewhere along the way Dean lost track of time. One day just faded into the next, sometimes the one after that too. Weeks blurred past without much notice mostly because he just didn't care to. Too much work and not enough sleep tended to do that to a guy. It wasn't like he needed to remind himself of the things he was missing. He was keeping busy, lives were being saved and his mind was being kept as occupied as possible. Every waking moment was spent on survival. If everything else had a habit of catching up on him while he slept, well he just spent less time in bed.

Eventually he found himself in yet another run down motel room somewhere called Potlatch, Idaho. As far as places went it was... well if he was to be honest the best word to use was 'convenient'. What else could a hunter call a place where the library, the coroner's, the sheriff's department, vehicle and driver's licensing, tax collecting, departments and court assistance were all on the same property? Recycling center services too. Christ, it was the ideal one-stop shop to get the intel on a job done. Unfortunately it was also a bit of a nightmare logistically if you happened to be on the run, on that list of America's Most Wanted.

Dean was pretty confident going in that there wouldn't be too much trouble. He just had to keep his head down, walk more than drive to keep his baby under wraps. No matter what he did the Impala would get some attention, but if he parked her it would take longer for folks to put his face to the car. He was going to bunk down in the motel halfway across town from the Library-slash-everything else. If they were going to make him he was damned well going to make it harder for them to haul him in than a quick jog across the street.

After an entire day in the resource room of the library surrounded by various piles of kids books, religious resource material and six or seven different versions of the Bible he was starting to think that maybe all that worry had been for nothing. The walk back across town wasn't exactly fun with a rucksack full of books he'd probably never return but it was uneventful so he was considering it a win.

It was somewhere close to midnight when he finally jammed the slightly bent key into the lock to his most recent crap room. The lock stuck frustratingly, as always, but at least he could be sure the room was empty. Luckily this particular hunt seemed to be shaping up to be simple enough. Some weird sightings but no deaths so far, and from the look of things a quick and easy salt and burn would wrap things up nicely. Almost too easy the last thought in his head as he stumbled sleepily through the door, boots finding unwelcome traction on the grungy old shag carpeting that was six different shades of nasty gray. (Ugh gross!)

Images of Cal creating lovely, sleepy lumps in bed as she dozed while waiting for him a lifetime ago came unbidden. He didn't bother turning the lights on. All he wanted was to collapse on the bed and lose himself to dreams he knew he wasn't worthy of having. Tossing the lock he took the two steps to the double in the middle of the tiny room and just let himself fall, not even bothering to take off his boots.

"Hell, kid, you're not at all what I expected." A voice so deep you could drown in it had poor Dean leaping off the bed for the door. "Son of a bitch!" Who was this guy? Was this it, the moment the damn feds finally caught up to him? Served Dean right for not doing anything to try and change his situation since hitting the road. So much for clearing his name and going home. He gave up on that one the day he'd walked out on Cal and drove right out of Bobby's yard if he was to be honest with himself.

"You know, the way your friends talk about you I was half expecting the second coming of Christ when I finally tracked your sorry ass down. Frankly I'd say they went a little overboard on the hype." A gruff chuckle that sounded as if it had been dragged through the parking lot outside told Dean exactly what the guy thought of 'the kid's instincts.

"Sorry. I wasn't exactly expecting company." Sarcasm dripping thick and heavy off the last, the better to punctuate on delivery. "Wait, what friends? Who the hell are you?"

It was hard to make much out in the dark with the curtains shut so tightly against the sunrise he'd hoped to avoid in the morning. Not hard to get that the dude was big. No, not just big; massive. Was that a hat? Great. Yeah, 'cause Dean had an awesome track record with huge cowboys. This was going to suck, big time. He just knew it.

"Relax kid. No need to get your hackles up. We have some mutual acquaintances, you and I." While the cowboy sounded sincere Dean wasn't really the trusting kind. Being alone on the road as long as he had been didn't help the suspicion much either.

"Oh, sure we do." Sarcasm Bobby would have been proud of fell from the corner of a sneer that was wasted in the dim light.

"Yeah. Your brother, for one. He got hold of my number by way of Bobby." Dead silence as Dean processed and tried to decide one way or the other about the big guy's credibility.

"How do I know you're not some cop or fed looking to cut his teeth bringing my sorry hide in." Wouldn't be the first time one of the dumbasses tried it. Apparently the cowboy would have to work a little harder at making Winchester believe him.

"Suspicious little bugger, aren't ya?" Growled annoyance in that coarse concentrated baritone. "How's about you reach out and flip the switch on the lights. Won't very well do me any good to trot out proof if you can't lay eyes on it." If the logic was sound Dean sure wasn't about to acknowledge it. He did, however, want to get a good look at this guy who was claiming to be Sam's new partner in arms. Slowly, carefully, he reached a hand out and batted at the ancient switch.

"Holy crap!" The dude was built like a brick outhouse. Dean was pretty used to being around guys bigger than him, what with Sam being a few inches taller and wider in the shoulder than his big brother pretty much since puberty hit. This guy though? He had a good six inches over Sam easy. First sign of a green tinge to his skin and Dean wasn't going to stick around to hear the 'Hulk smash" that he suspected would surely follow.

Reaching out with a massive mitt of a hand, the cowboy graced him with a warm good-ole-boy smile. "Hey. Nice to finally put a face to ya." Maybe it was rude to just stare dumbfounded at the hand extended toward him but you had to give a guy a break somewhere. Also, there was still no proof that this dude had come on Sam's behalf. The guy was swift on the uptake though, thankfully. Huffing a sigh and rolling his eyes elaborately he started rolling up his obnoxiously plaid shirtsleeve. "No offense, kid, but there is no denying you're a Winchester."

Dean was too busy staring at the two words tattooed to the cowboy's bicep to take any kind of offense. "You knew him?" The question was just a formality really what with the words Semper Fi looking so tiny scrawled across that giant muscle the guy called an arm. "Met your old man in 'Nam. Tried to keep in touch, but after your mom passed on… well, I'm sure you know how solitary he got to be. Saved my ass a time or two, I'm not ashamed to say."

If Deans eyes were shining a little it wasn't from the tears collecting there that he wouldn't let fall. No sir, and he wasn't speechless either. He was just… weighing his words. Yeah. Exactly.

"Did Sam tell you …"

"That the old man is with your mom now? Yeah. Sorry to hear it kid. He was a good man, your pop. The world lost one big damned hero when John Winchester moved on." Well hell. Maybe there was a tear or two after all. Damned if Dean was going to admit to them though.

"So my brother, he figures you can lend a hand does he?" When he found his voice again it sounded off, like he'd been yelling himself hoarse. Blame the late hour and exhaustion. Winchesters didn't get emotional like that.

"Look kid, I might only be a 'former' marine to you but what you got to remember is that you can't be career military without making a few friends in interesting places." Dean wasn't a big fan of mystery and this dude was just oozing it. There was history there, though, and right this second it held just enough weight in the midst of unresolved Winchester Daddy issues to give the cowboy a leg up.

"You shacked up somewhere yet?" He had to ask because the prospect of sharing this tiny space with the Incredible Cowboy was not a pleasant prospect.

"Two doors down. Room 103." Oh thank God! He'd have a hard enough time sleeping knowing this guy was in his back pocket and had already broken into his room. It was a relief not to have to extend the invitation to share. Maybe he'd actually manage to sleep tonight after all.

"Alright, I'm gonna level with you here. It's been the hell of a long day and I am dying for some shut eye. How about I come knocking in the morning and you can tell me all about your genius plan over coffee and breakfast?" That's right, dude. It's the Winchester in this situation that's calling the shots.

"Cora's Diner on seventh street has the best coffee this side of Boise." At least the guy had some good taste, current wardrobe aside.

"I know it." Dean had been breakfasting at Cora's every time his travels took him through Idaho since he'd turned twenty and first discovered it.

"Seven thirty. I'll be in the third booth from the door." Huh. Okay, so there went calling the shots. Whatever. He'd let it go for now.

"What's your name, there, Urban Cowboy?" Because no self respecting hunter worth their salt would go to bed without looking up the dude who managed to break in and get the drop on them.

"You can call me John. I haven't used my real name since I left the marines." An alias, huh? Well at least it was a place to start.

"Got a last name?" Maybe the guy used it enough for Dean to be able to scare up some info on him with a quick internet search and some discreet phone calls.

"Yeah, Wayne, like in the westerns. No relation." Damned if the cowboy couldn't smirk with the best of them. "See ya in the morning." And he was out the door, spurs on his boots clinking every step of the way. Huh. He must've missed the horse in the parking lot on the way in 'cause this guy wasn't exactly the type you could picture behind the wheel of a Chevy.


"Sam! Move your keister. Checkout's in ten and if we're late they're gonna heap on an extra thirty bucks to the bill." Jeeze. Cal was starting to hate the screechy tone that had become her default setting lately. Thankfully Sam was pretty understanding of where it was coming from. In turn she tiptoed around a little more carefully when he got extra broody. Missing home and Dean were no longer mutually exclusive and knowing they were both currently farther away than Sam liked brought out the emo in him like nothing else.

"Ow! Shit! Yeah, I'm shaving as fast as I can here Cal. Keep rushing me and you might have to put some stitches in my face before we head down." He was starting to sound a lot more like Dean. Not necessarily a welcome change but one she'd just have to live with.

"Oh. Sorry." Wait, did he say he was shaving? That beard had become such a part of Sam that she couldn't picture him without it anymore. What on earth had possessed him to decide to strip himself it off all of a sudden? Lately Cal had become all about giving folks their personal space, so prying into a 'why' wasn't going to happen. He'd probably tell her in the car on the way to wherever they were headed next anyway. "You think you can be done in five? I can load up the car while you finish up so all we need to do is hand in the keys before we go." Another unexpected change that had come about recently; Cal had developed a need to be accommodating. Anything she could do to make life easier for others and she was on it. Somewhere deep down was old Jacob's voice speaking meaningful words about the reasons behind the need to please others and making sure it wasn't at her own expense just to get approval. Generally she managed to ignore it, regardless of how loud it got.

"Sure. Five minutes should be plenty." The bathroom door slid open to reveal a very shirtless Sam, shaving cream frothing up his face so he looked like some calendar model version of Santa Claus. "Leave me the heavier ones. You heard the doc last night. No heavy lifting until those bruised ribs heal up." There was still a very fundamental part of her that screamed insistently in her head that she could take care of her own damned self no matter how badly she got herself mangled. That one was harder to ignore.

Knowing full well what kind of inner monologue she had going on, Sam cocked a brow in her direction. "I'm not going to need to tie you to a chair like I did when you broke your arm after Disneyland, am I?" How much did she hate that he was reminding her of a particularly low, self destructive point that was better off forgotten? "A little more credit please? I'd like to think I've become slightly more reasonable since then."

There was no denying that she had. All it took was an evening alone in that chair with her broken arm and the realization that she was willing to drive herself to the point of being hospitalized to avoid facing her own thoughts. That was plenty of reason for her to take a good long look at herself in the mirror and start bringing about some serious changes. Truth be told she'd set herself on that self destructive path as a child, after her mother's murder. Every time she lost someone she loved she took a step closer to jumping right over the line to the point of no return. Dean's departure had almost shoved her over and she almost hadn't seen it coming. Thank God for Sam, or she wouldn't have realized it at all.

"No thanks papa Winchester. I got the message loud and clear. Just hurry up, would ya? Seven minutes to check out and you're not even decent yet." Needless nagging since he had already bent back to business over the sink, staring his reflection down as he skillfully dragged the disposable blade across skin over and over again.

They made it with three minutes to spare. The clerk tried to charge them anyway. Cal took it as a productive way to vent some of that frustrated energy and got him to refund it to them. Nothing as drastic as her usual antics, mostly because of how sore her chest still was, but a little cleavage and a few sharp witted words and they were on their way.

"I'm driving." Sam announced, naked face sporting a smug grin instead of whiskers for a change. "What? But it's my turn. Also, in the interest of fairness, I did promise to drive slow for the sake of my ribs." But he was already digging the keys out of her jeans pocket and taking that larger than life stride over to the driver's side of the car.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I have to do the driving. We've got somewhere to be in an hour and there's no way we'll make it with you behind the wheel, broken like that." "Somewhere to be, eh? I call bullshit. Maybe I should have a little chat with Franny about how unfair you can be sometimes. Especially since I've promised to limit my crazy antics." "Nope. No bullshit. I got a call last night." The smile grew, reaching right across his face. It put a sparkle in those brown puppy eyes and a bright blush to those newly smoothed cheeks.

"A call huh? Must've been someone pretty special to put that kind of a smile on your face." Must've been while they'd been x-raying her ribs the night before. The pain had kept her from any kind of restful sleep, dreams shallow and easily shed at the slightest sound. No way she'd have missed a phone ringing in the middle of the night. "John Wayne, actually." Now she knew he was screwing around with her. She rolled a pointed look across the dashboard toward him and scowled to show him just what she thought of his little ploy. "John Wayne, the Duke himself, called you last night did he? Was he looking for a salt and burn so he could finally achieve that eternal rest or was he after a revival spell to get that next movie deal under his belt?" Cheeky she could do.

"Nope, not the Duke. Same name, no relation. Remember all those calls Bobby and I made all those months ago?" His smile was so bright it could blind a person. "Are you saying we have a lead on where Dean is?" Not that Cal wanted to be a downer, but Dean Winchester was not currently her favorite person. Part of her never wanted to find him, regardless of the amount of effort they'd put into it so far. "I'm saying John Wayne managed to sneek into Dean's motel room last night to be sure he had the right guy and then called to tell me where they were going to be for breakfast this morning." If all went well they'd be there just as the two men were sipping coffee, waiting for the waitress to come take their order.

"Okay, so putting aside just how ridiculous that sounds; our first lead on Dean's whereabouts just happens to be his breakfast plans with John Wayne Not-the-Duke? How far away are we talking exactly?" Sam looked at his watch and kept on smiling. "You know how we've been in Spokane the last few days?" Trust a Winchester to drag it out for suspense. "Get to it, Sam." "He's been in Potlatch since yesterday." An hour and a half away, what were the odds? "How many times do you figure we've been this close to him over the last eight months without a clue?" A sobering thought. To say that Sam was excited to finally set eyes on his brother would have been a gross understatement.

He looked away from the road just long enough to get a fix on Cal. She wasn't her usual talkative self. Hard to say whether it was from the pain, the lack of coffee or the prospect of seeing Dean again for the first time since he walked out on her. "Hey, look, I'm sorry. I know this is a lot all at once. I could go to the diner on my own if you…" Bless his big sasquatch heart, Sam was offering to drop her off somewhere, giving her the opportunity to hide out until she felt better. Too bad she'd never been the run and hide type of girl. Not that it wasn't appreciated. "Your heart's in the right place Sam, but you're forgetting who it is you're talking to here. Bruised ribs and ego aside, a girl's got to face up to reality when it bites her in the butt. I won't hide from this. Besides, you're going to need some backup when he sees you're there. The way he's been making us chase him all over God's Green Earth he'll probably try to duck out the back when he sees you."

A little too harsh a dose of reality dimmed the light in Sam's eyes and Cal was immediately sorry for it. This was the happiest she'd seen him in ages, short of the few times they'd gone home to see Franny and the kids. Jaw set in grim determination he checked his watch again, an OCD type habit that would haunt him the whole way to Potlatch. "John said they'd be meeting at 7:30." Seeing as it was already a quarter to six they were going to be cutting it close. "Alright then, guess you'd better drive fast. We're going to have to make it there before they do if we're going to get the drop on him."

And once they had him? Well, they'd strap him down to a chair or lock him in a closet until he agreed that sticking together was the best plan… or she'd let him go while Sam was sleeping just to get him out of her face. Hm, maybe there was a little more work to be done with those pesky bitterness issues, eh? Best not to mention it to Sam until whatever happened of all this was done and over with or it might just screw up her chances of being Dean free if that's what it came down to.

For now she was going to settle for laying as comfortably as was possible in a bucket seat with broken ribs. Back reclined as far as it would go she tried to ignore the throbbing of her bruises and how annoyingly lumpy the pillow she'd stolen from room service in that last hotel really was. Hardly worth the trouble if it's not any kind of comfortable. At least the blanket she'd tucked around herself was warm and soft. Maybe she'd get some half decent sleep between here and there. Maybe that would give her what she needed to face the parts of herself she didn't want to admit to when they saw Dean again. Oh, who did she think she was kidding anyway? Nothing was going to make that easier. When did Cal O'Sulivan ever do anything easy? Never. Right about then she wished that somewhere, someone might be willing to cut her a break and make an exception. She'd come a long way but it still didn't feel nearly far enough to make this okay.